


Hypocrites

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: “So then, did we technicallykillthem?”
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58





	Hypocrites

**Author's Note:**

> so like, i'm not saying rajang is annoying to fight, but wtf are those hitboxes and it Never Stops Moving and i know you're supposed to take advantage of those brief windows after its attacks but when it suddenly does a little hop to reposition and you're knocked flat on your ass and then you die?? man???? still less terrible than kushala tho 
> 
> this takes place after the battle at the old factory while the group is en route to leftheria

“So then, did we technically _kill_ them?”

“That’s a rather heavy question,” Mòrag says, with some other unsaid comment left hanging in the air. She and Brighid don’t seem bothered at all, though. Of course they wouldn’t. They never struck Rex as the type of people to be shaken with thoughts of… of things, which he had never put too much stock in before, not until this tiring journey.

He isn’t sure who else to ask, though. Mythra’s seemed kind of off ever since Fan la Norne entered the picture. Others might call him oblivious, but Rex _notices_ those uneasy glances and the way Mythra bites down on her lower lip, as if she’s holding herself back from speaking to Fan. He wouldn’t know why. He probably shouldn’t ask, even if his curiosity’s nearly gotten the better of him once or twice so far.

But that’s not what he’s worried about.

“That girl, Patroka. She was really angry,” he says, fists curled at his sides. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. Instead, he hangs his head so he doesn’t have to look Mòrag in the eye.

“Yes.” Mòrag nods, still seemingly unconcerned. “Were it not for Fan la Norne’s convenient arrival, who knows what sort of dreadful power she would have unleashed upon us? We should consider ourselves fortunate.”

“I don’t think she was mad just because we won, though.”

“Oh? What do you think, then?” Brighid asks, in the way one would ask a child for their opinion out of mere obligation.

_Did we kill them?_

He wants to kick himself for realizing it too late. Akhos’s cry of distress was real, when Obrona had returned to her Core Crystal. Anyone with ears and a brain would be able to tell that much. It didn’t even seem to _matter_ at the time, though, because Vandham was dead and Mythra had just awoken and so many other things were happening after that painful sunrise.

There’s a lot of time to think now, while they’re headed to Leftheria and everything’s quiet.

“Who cares?”

Rex startles, but Mòrag and Brighid calmly acknowledge Nia’s callous remark with a slight inclination of their heads. She’s lazily slouching upon Dromarch’s back, expression foul and the wrinkle between her brows deep. Nia must’ve been listening in. It looks like she hasn’t gotten any sleep, either. Her ears are twitching, as is her jaw.

“It was either them or us, Rex. There’s no point in beating yourself up over things like that.”

“But I’m just saying—“

“Just drop it.”

“—They were _Blades!_ ” Rex blurts out. “Even if they were trying to kill us, they were still Blades. They… didn’t even leave Core Crystals behind. They were just gone.”

That’s not what’s supposed to happen. In the moment, it didn’t even occur to him, and he has to wonder if any of the others thought the same. Certainly not Mòrag and Brighid. Probably. They’re beyond his scope of understanding, and he still can’t get a good read on them beyond, _they’re friends now! Not gonna arrest us!_ But Nia, Dromarch and even Poppi and Tora… what did they think? What did they think when Patroka cursed them for destroying her beloved weapon, and when Akhos had cried out Obrona’s name in shocked anguish?

Relief, maybe. Rex had felt nothing but relief, because the deaths of those Blades meant the fighting was over.

He’s not supposed to feel _relieved_ , he thinks.

Nia’s ears now lay flat against her head, and she grips the fur around Dromarch’s neck so tightly that he’s visibly wincing. “Those guys… it doesn’t matter. They don’t care, so neither should we.”

“Ah, yes. You do have a previous association with that group.” Mòrag puts a hand to her chin in thought. “Were they really so indifferent toward their Blades?”

“I just said it doesn’t matter anymore. They’re gone, aren’t they? Cressidus, and Perdido, Obrona, even Sever…” Nia’s voice trails off, her fists unfurling. “Forget it. I don’t feel like talking about them.”

Something sits heavy in Rex’s stomach. Nia still hasn’t divulged much about how deep her bonds ran with Torna before she left them, but he’d always been under the simple assumption that they weren’t _that_ close. That it just… didn’t matter.

Without another word, Nia pats Dromarch’s back and gestures away. He bows his head. Stiffly, like he’s reciting a script, he says, “I bid you all a pleasant evening,” and leaves with Nia still clinging to him.

It’s just the three of them once again. Four, technically, but Azurda is softly snoring in his helmet. Rex isn’t sure what to say at this point, staring down at his boots. He’d never considered himself to be a particularly worldly person, and that rings true even louder after everything that’s happened so far. Were those Blades’ deaths really so pointless? What did Vandham’s death mean in turn, then?

“There could’ve been a way around it,” he slowly says. “I don’t want anyone to _die._ ”

Mòrag sighs, her frown no longer quite so severe. “Ten years ago, I would have said the same thing.”

“Someone once told me that everyone’s fighting their own war.” What _did_ Vandham's death mean, really? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, because he could have been saved and all that came out of it was Mythra being forced to awaken. Maybe that heavy feeling in his gut is just guilt. “He said that I’ve got to fight my own war, too. But what if I don’t want to fight a war? All I want is to get to Elysium. That’s all.”

“You must already realize that it will not be an easy path to walk,” Mòrag says.

“I know that! But…”

“Will mourning those Blades justify your actions?” Brighid asks. “Will beating yourself up over their lost Core Crystals give you satisfaction?”

“Brighid—“ Mòrag starts.

“And _you don’t want to fight a war?_ What nonsense. You’ve been on a warpath ever since you became the Driver of the Aegis.”

“That’s enough, Brighid.” She lays a hand on Brighid’s shoulder, which seems to placate her for now. Mòrag jerks her head toward the last cabin at the end of the ship, the one that they had claimed for themselves. “It’s been a taxing day for all of us. We should get some rest.”

“… Of course, Lady Mòrag.”

“Rex.” He straightens up when his name is spoken. “I would advise you not to dwell too deeply on those Tornan Blades. There are more important things at hand to consider.” They’ve already begun to walk away, but she pauses to glance over her shoulder. Half her face is hidden by her collar. He can't tell if she's smiling or frowning.

“You did not kill them.”

That sinking feeling in his gut grows heavier. “Thanks, Mòrag.”


End file.
